Well, I've been sorting through things--again. What is it with humans? We are such packrats. I'm the biggest packrat of all. Why?
Because it's all perfectly good stuff. Quite frankly, given the current economy, I'm not inclined to toss any of it out. But I will reorganize my stuff so I can get to it easier. And in that reorganization, who knows? I might even find something I thought was lost.
My dream is to have my apartment so organized that I could pack and move on a moment's notice. That has never been the case in forty plus years. Except for a few small specific things (my writing stuff and the genealogy papers), my stuff is not even remotely organized. If I had to move tomorrow, it would take a crew to pull it off.
I used to wonder why other people (particularly women) were more organized than I was. Was it something lacking in my personality? Was it inherent laziness? Am I just a house slut?
Well, all of those are possibilities. But I think the central truth is that I always find other things more interesting. Given the choice between writing and housework... well let's just say that housework is waaaay down on the scale.
I used to worry about it a lot more than I do now. But one day--not too long after I was in a near death situation--it occurred to me that life was too short and uncertain to obsess about such things. If there's a reasonable path through the apartment and the trash is carried out on a regular basis, then I'm good to go.
Once in a while, someone threatens to come visit me and I spend a frantic two or three days shoving stuff in closets and drawers. (Of course, it's months before I find any of that stuff!) But the apartment doesn't look like cavemen live here and that's what counts.
Cause after all... it's good stuff.